Everybody Wants to Rule the World
by penelope lemon
Summary: I thought working as a lab technician for SHIELD was a safe enough job, but I'm proved wrong. I should have seen it coming; between my incurable bad luck and the occupational hazard of working for the Band of Merry Misfits, it should've come as no surprise that I'd end up among Hydra's ranks (Begins at CAWS—AAoU)
1. Welcome

Had I known what was going to happen to me that night after clinicals, I would have stayed in bed. I would have slept in, enjoyed a black coffee and mentally prepared myself for the chewing out I was bound to get for missing work. At the very least, I would have popped an extra Xanax. But as bad luck would have it, I forced myself awake, made myself reasonably presentable, and took the twenty minute drive from my apartment on 31st Street to SHIELD headquarters.

Months later, while sitting in a drafty room of an old-fort-turned-HYDRA-base, I would count that as my first mistake.

I ran the ID badge over the scanner in the parking garage and the door to the headquarters clicked as it unlocked. I made my way to the elevator and pressed the button for the medical bay.

I tended to avoid telling people that I was employed at SHIELD, because that kind of information was usually met with grand assumptions. People always wanted to know what it was like working at a counter terrorism and intelligence agency. When I replied that it was a lot of paperwork, they were left disappointed. They all expected the same thing; offices on the highest floor with windows overlooking the Potomac River, top of the line weaponry and training facilities, intensely dangerous but highly rewarding hours spend encrypting codes and tracking terrorists. The reality was rather…underwhelming. I worked in a white, windowless medical bay, clicking away at a computer to file medical reports. I was only a lab technician, which meant I handled blood samples and DNA tests and sometimes the doctors would let me set a broken bone if they were in a good mood that day.

Compared to other occupations at SHIELD, my job was not that thrilling, but I wasn't complaining. Working in the medical bay had its perks. Like sticking superhumans with needles. That shit never got old.

The elevator doors _dinged_ as they slid opened and I entered the medical bay. The main level was suspiciously quiet and I made my way to the laboratory in back.

"Morning Faye," one of our interns said as I entered the lab. She handed me a hot cup of coffee and if I remembered her name, I would have thanked her. I dropped my car keys onto my desk and pulled on my white coat. Brushing aside a few scattered papers, I found my keyboard and opened my email.

I couldn't decide which was the bigger mess; my desk or my mind.

I took a sip of coffee and pulled up a message from Doctor Cho.

 _Hunt—_

 _We are neck deep in the new project and I've just received word that Agents of Strike are inbound from a hostage negotiation. They'll be sent to the med bay as soon as they are debriefed. I'm leaving you in charge of their post mission exams. Expect Agent Romanoff and Captain Rodgers as well._

 _Doctor Helen Cho_

I raised my eyebrows. Even though I had an MD and a bachelors in genetics, it was a rare occasion Doctor Cho and the other doctors let me, or any of the lad techs for that matter, near the Avengers. If there was even the _slightest_ chance one of the supers was badly injured, I doubt Doctor Cho would trust me with her precious Band of Merry Misfits. And if she was sending me this info via email, then any injuries sustained from the mission were mild. A few cuts and bruises. Maybe a broken nose if I was lucky. When there was a real medical emergency, the lab was contacted through telecommunication, rather than good old fashioned email.

I clicked off my computer. Doctor Cho's visits to the States were becoming more frequent now that she and the rest of the med team were working on a top-secret project from Director Fury. Whenever she arrived, the rest of the doctors at SHIELD tended to disappear for a few days. Given that I was only a lad tech, I wasn't technically supposed to know what the project was, but I may or may not have skimmed a file on new regenerative human tissue technology.

I entered back though the main level, which resembled a state of the art hospital. The lab was spacious and clean, but cramped with mixers, stainless steel tables, computers, cryogenic chambers, microscopes, and a flat screen that took up the east wall. The main level had a larger floor plan that made it not as suffocating as the lab. There were parts of the med bay sectioned off for operating rooms, an infirmary, plus a surplus of medical supplies and offices for Doctor Cho and her team. It was another perk of working for SHIELD—all the fun, advanced medical toys I had at my disposal.

I began pulling supplies from the glass cupboard in the clinical room: needles, lidocaine, gauze and surgical scissors. I noticed my hands shaking as pulled on my gloves, and I told myself it was from coffee. I really needed to cut back.

I tried to keep busy while I waited for the team to filter in. I knew if I stayed immobile for too long, in a quiet infirmary where my thoughts could roam, then the anxiety would settle in. I had only met the Avengers in passing, really. A few times I had seen them in the medical bay. I had issued Agent Barton some morphine a few missions back, and I once stitched up Mr. Stark after a gash around his thumb became infected. Other than a few brief encounters, I had never properly introduced myself.

There was a reason for that. I _hated_ introductions. The thought of having to make small talk with the Strike team and two Avengers while I cleaned them up, made me sick and frustrated. My leg began to bounce on the foot rest of my stool. I told myself that it was only a few words, people said them every day, and it didn't need to be that hard. Then again, this was Agent Romanoff and Captain Rodgers I was talking about, not Widower Harvey who lived in the apartment across the hall from me and enjoyed chatting (in grave detail) about his window garden.

The door opened and _of course_ Steve Rodgers was the first to come see me. He stood politely in the doorway, taking up half the room with just his well-muscled chest. The blonde haired, blue eyed golden boy glanced at me, then around the room uncertainly.

"Oh, hi, h-have a seat," I said hastily and indicated to the table.

He moved across the bright room and I noticed the way he favored his right side, which meant he must have been hit on the left. He was in civilian clothes, a brown leather jacket that he pulled off when I rolled my stool across the room. He lifted his shirt and a yellow bruise was blooming across his ribs. There was something very amusing about the fact that even superheroes had to take a beating every once in a while. I placed my fingers on the intercostal muscles between his ribs, ignoring the fact that his incredible physique was making me featherbrained. I scrambled for something to say.

"You're not one of the usual doctors," he commented.

"No," I said, "They were all otherwise preoccupied, so Doctor Cho asked me to step in."

I pulled my hands away. No broken ribs. I knew the Captain would have to take a hard hit in order to snap one of his super solider bones, but the doctor in me still had to check to make sure.

He dropped the corner of his shirt and I half attempted to hide my disappointment.

He held out a hand.

"Steve Rodgers," he greeted, like I didn't already know.

"Faye Hunt," I replied and shook his hand.

"How long have you been at SHIELD?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I've been here a long time but I've only been working about six months. I was doing my residency here before then."

"You're awfully young to be a doctor."

"I-I know," I replied lamely, because I wasn't sure how to answer his question.

I pushed myself across the room the grab his file, the wheels of my stool thumping over the white tile. I tapped the tablet screen, curtesy of Stark Industries, and glanced over his recent paperwork. Everything was up to date.

If I was being honest, these routine post mission clinicals seemed like a waste of time. I felt like a child playing doctor and Steve Rodgers was the doting parent willing to play along and keep me happy. The Avengers were super humans after all. Highly trained assassins. Gods, even. Brilliant scientists and brilliant billionaires. There was essentially no need for medical check ups because they were essentially invincible. I had a theory that Director Fury used the clinicals as a way to ensure that his superhumans stayed just that—super. Every so often they underwent tests: bloodwork, respiratory tests, x-rays and the likes, hoping to catch any abnormalities before they caused trouble. But that was it, there never were any.

I thought that most of the team realized that these exams were bordering on unnecessary. Mr. Stark voiced his displeasure at the mandatory medical visits every chance he could, and at a surprisingly loud volume. It was during these tantrums that Director Fury often reminded him that after a particularly nasty self stich that resulted in a bad infection in his hand, I had to reopen the wound, clean and repair the damaged tissue and sew him back up the _proper_ way so he wouldn't lose his thumb. That usually kept him quiet.

For about thirty seconds.

Banner, Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton dutifully did as they were told with little complaint, to which she was grateful. I had never met Thor and since he wasn't actually human, he was excused. Captain Rodgers seemed none the wiser and I wasn't sure if he was unaware of how needless testing his super solider abilities was, or if he politely ignored the fact like the others.

"Doc?" Steve asked, pulling me from my thoughts. Barley ten minutes and I already had a nickname from the Captain; the thought made me stupid with glee.

"Hmm?" I hummed, trying to keep my cool. I swiveled to face him.

"Do the words Project Insight mean anything to you?"

"Should they?"

"No, I suppose not," he replied.

I pushed my chair over to the exam table. Steve was staring at the body weight scale in the corner of the infirmary, troubled. He shifted and the sanitary paper under him crinkled.

"Is everything okay?" I asked slowly.

Another reason why I hated interacting with people. Asking if Steve was okay was the decent thing to do, but I didn't want to know. He would tell me something sad, maybe about his past life, and in an attempt to comfort him I would say something stupid and insensitive on accident. I didn't handle emotions well, mine or anyone else's for that matter. Steve obviously had something one his mind and probably wanted to talk about, but I wasn't sure I was the right person to do it with.

Steve looked at me and I glanced away, not meeting his gaze.

"It's just…a little bit of everything," Steve started. "I don't know. It just seems that whenever I start making progress, something jumps up and knocks me over," Steve continued, tossing his hand out to emphasize his point. "Like something is keeping me from moving forward. I start catching up on the times, but then I realize I've forgotten something from my past. I think I've made a right decision, then come to find out someone's been playing Judas with me."

My brows furrowed. "Judas?" I asked. I wasn't sure what Steve was getting at, but he seemed to relax the more he talked.

"Fury," Steve clarified. "I suppose 'betrayed' is a bit overdramatic. He just hasn't been completely honest with me. It makes me wonder what else he's been hiding."

I wasn't sure what to say to him, because I only had half the story. There were plenty of operations happening within SHIELD that only a select few knew about, I wasn't sure why Project Insight was any different, or why it concerned Steve in the first place.

"Sorry?" I replied. Steve looked at me and I cleared my throat, changing the subject. "Well you've definitely got a cracked rib. A few minor lacerations but nothing to be concerned about. Ice your side on and off for a few hours and take some pain medication if you need it."

Steve shook his head. "It's sore, but doesn't hurt that bad."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course the super solider brushed off a cracked rib like a broken fingernail.

"Even so," I said, "Be sure to get some rest. Even with your advanced healing, it could take a few days before you're back to normal. Don't overdo it, okay?"

Steve nodded, still looking unsure. I closed out of Steve's files and peeled off my gloves. I glanced at him, waiting for him to get off the table and leave, but he didn't budge. He rubbed his hands together and the movement made the muscles in his arms ripple. I made an ungodly noise between a sigh and a groan and he looked at me. So much for acting professional.

"And, uh, don't worry about Director Fury," I said quickly, trying to hide my embarrassed blush. "He knows what he's doing."

"I just feel like there is a gaping hole in my memory and the more I try to close it, the wider it gets," he said. "Things are changing and I don't understand it."

Everyone knew the story of Steve Rodgers, especially here at SHIELD, and for some reason his comment irked me.

"That's because there _is_ a gaping hole in your memory, Captain Rodgers. You were frozen for seventy years," I said. I tried to let my voice be understanding, but it came out snarkier than I intended. Steve wasn't the only one who couldn't piece together his life, and I suddenly did not feel like being his shrink anymore. "You're Captain America. There are books written about you and documentaries about your battles. Do some research about yourself because if you can't remember then at least you can relearn," I snapped. Steve's face remained passive, if not slightly confused. I matched his unsure gaze, raising an eyebrow. "You do know you have an exhibit in the World War Two wing of the Smithsonian?" I asked and my voice returned to its normal pitch.

He shrugged.

"If you want my advice, do some digging. Maybe learning more about your past will help you figure out your future," I said. A rock could give better advice, but it was the best I had. Steve seemed grateful regardless. He offered a lopsided smile and I returned it.

He slid off the table and pulled is jacket back on. I drummed my fingers against my cheek as my chin rested in the palm of my hand, watching him.

"Thanks, Doc," Steve said, hand on the door handle.

He puled open the door but before he could leave, I blurted out, "Does it ever come back to you?" He looked at me and I stuttered out, "Y-y-your memories. Bits and pieces maybe?"

Steve considered my question for a moment and I swallowed, figuring that if Steve Rodgers could regain memories that were over seventy years old, then maybe mine would find some way to come back to me too.

"Sometimes certain smells or sounds remind me of things I've forgotten," Steve said and his smile turned wistful. "I was in a coffee shop a few days ago, the one on Maine Avenue, and they were playing Benny Goodman. It reminded me of laying on the floor as a boy and listening to the radio until my mother made me turn it off."

It wasn't the answer I was looking for, but it still gave me hope.

"Benny who?" I asked and Steve just laughed.

"Thanks," he said and left the exam room.

The medical bay seemed strangely quiet once he left and I waited for more agents to filter in. I could see why people admired Steve Rodgers; calm, collected and cordial, even when he had things troubling him. I wish I could say the same for me, but the slightest hiccup in my life was usually received with overreactive meltdowns. I reached up and fingered the short fringe on my forehead, the repercussions of my last breakdown. For some reason I thought cutting my own bangs would magically fix everything, but it only made me look like I was twelve again. Mercifully, they had grown since then, and now they were only _slightly_ crooked.

Steve Rodgers' quiet, grounding presence was something I needed more of in my life.

Strike agents filtered in through out the rest of the day. One agent came in with a nasty gash along his temple that almost took his ear off. Six stitches, a finger splint and countless butterfly bandages later, I was finally able to leave the infirmary for the lab. Agent Romanoff never showed, which I couldn't say I was disappointed about. The fact that the woman could punched me through the next life without batting an eyelash scared the bejesus out of me, so I wasn't exactly jumping at the chance to tell her to take it easy.

Clinicals took up a significant chunk of time, so when I finally finished up paperwork in the lab, I was the only one left in the medical bay. Thank God I didn't have a social life. A job working for SHIELD, even one as uninspired as mine, didn't allow time to indulge in a foreign concept like friendship. Not that I ever cared, but I tried not to make working late a habit. By the time I shut down my computer and turned off the lights and locked up the lab, I was leaving work well past nine o'clock.

That was my second mistake, I would later figure.

I took the elevator to the underground parking garage. Usually full, the garage looked especially naked with only a few dozen cars left. I noticed Director Fury's black SUV was still there, and I wouldn't be surprised if the man had a futon in his office. We, the doctors, lab techs and nurses in the med bay, jokingly refereed to Director Fury's vehicle as The Black Beast. It was parked in the same spot every morning, and was usually there every night when I headed home. I made my way to the northeast corner lot where I had parked that morning, fishing in my scrub pocket for my keys. The florescent lights overhead buzzed and winked.

I paused at the drivers side of my car, trying to fit the key in the lock. There was movement out of the corner of my eye and I turned to see who was approaching. Before I could, a hand, cold and frighteningly strong, grabbed my hair and shoved my face into my car window. My nose collided with the glass, spider webbed cracks fanning out from the point of impact. There was a crunch, and I felt the bones in my nose shift. Pain exploded between my eyes and blood gushed from my nose, painting the window red. Stars blossomed in my vision, my head rang, and my knees buckled underneath me. I crumpled onto the hard concrete, blood spewing from my nose. I blinked slowly trying to refocus enough to keep the world from tilting so I could get back on my feet.

The stars cleared enough for me to see a pair of black combat boots planted next to my hand. Panic shot through my body like lightning and with a speed I didn't know I possessed, I scrambled to my feet. Using a hand on the car to steady me, rounded the front and started running for the doors. Adrenaline fought the dizziness that closed in around me.

I wasn't sure if he was behind me or not, but I didn't dare stop to look around. I threw myself against the doors and yanked hard.

Locked.

I screamed and banged my fists against the metal.

"No!"

My keys and badge were back at my car, laying on the ground where I had dropped them. I smacked my palms against the doors, willing someone to be in the stairwell on the other side and hear me. There was a noise behind me. A click then a muffled step. A crack, a pop and suddenly and florescent lights overhead shattered. Sparks rained down and I covered my head as I was showered. I screamed again, so loud and frightened that it hurt. The lights went out and I was plunged into darkness.

My eyesight failing, I strained my ears listening for my attacker, but I could only hear the ringing in my head and my shallow breathing. I swallowed, panting, and put my hands out in front of me, blindingly stumbling forwards. I couldn't sit there and wait for him to get to me.

I moved cautiously, discombobulated since I could no longer reply on my sight or hearing. My hands came into contact with something sleek and cold and I flinched, only to realize I was standing by a Chevy truck. Out of ideas, and the fight in me rapidly failing, I crammed myself under the vehicle to hide. With any luck, my attacker was just as blind as I was in the dark, but I wasn't so sure. I waited, eyes straining against the blackness to try and make out anything familiar.

Footsteps. They were slow and calculating and coming from my left. I turned and saw those same back boots moving towards my hiding place. My hands trembled as I pressed them to my mouth to try and stifle my heaving breathing. I held still, begging my body not to give away my position. The boots rounded the front of the truck and I dug my fingernails into my cheeks to keep myself quiet. The boots moved on, disappearing behind the massive tires. I swallowed back frightened tears, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to panic.

 _He's gone. He's gone. Gone. Gone. Gone._

I repeated the words over in my head, wanting them to be true. I didn't dare shift my position. The fabric of my scrubs would make too much noise if I moved and I'd be done for.

I waited for what felt like hours.

I didn't hear anything. I turned to my left and the reflective headlights of my car winked at me. It was only five or six empty parking spaces away. If I could make it to the car, I could get my keys and maybe have a chance to escape.

And maybe have a chance to run over the bastard that broke my nose.

I held my breath, placed my palms on the ground and pulled myself. The loose gravel on the concrete bit into my hands and brushed against my pant legs. I waited another few seconds before moving again.

There was the unmistakable crunch of metal on metal, a cannon blast of noise against the silence, and I jumped, my head snapping around to look over my shoulder at the rear bumper of the truck. A silver hand was clamped around it, metal fingers digging to the vehicle and crinkling it like a piece of paper. The hand lifted the back of the truck and flipped it over. I screamed, curling into a tight ball as the Chevy cartwheeled over itself. Glass shot off the windows and the truck groaned as it bent and snapped. It crashed onto its topside, leaving me exposed.

I brought my arms down, twisted onto my back and propped myself up with my elbows. I scooched back as my attacker marched towards me. He was tall, much taller than I was, with slumped shoulders and clad in a black military looking uniform. His face was completely masked and even in my current life threatening predicament, I couldn't help but think how cruel it was that I couldn't see the face of my killer before I died. His left arm shot out and his hand wrapped around my throat, shoving me flat on my back and pinning me to the ground. It was then that the fact that he had a metal, bionic arm sunk in. It was cold against my throat, firm, but not choking.

I grit my teeth, suddenly wanting to hurt the man on top of me. If I was going to die, then I wanted to make him suffer as much as I could before I was gone. I wrestled with the arm around my throat, but his grip was vice like. I kicked my legs, but he was quicker, straddling my body and laying his weight on my thighs. I screamed, reached up, and slapped his face as hard as I could.

It didn't do much but make him angrier. His grip on my neck tightened and breathing suddenly became difficult. He produced a needle filled with a clear liquid. With his metal arm, her force my head to the side, exposing the skin below my jaw. There was a pinch in my neck. I was seeing stars again and my fingers began to tingle. I wasn't sure if the reaction was from the very potent sedative he had just injected me with, or the hand that was steadily crushing my windpipes. My body was failing me. My hits became vapid. My vision was going quickly. My eyes rolled up and I blacked out.


	2. To Your Life

When I came too, the first thing I noticed was the terrible taste in my mouth and the fact that my tongue felt two sizes two big. I forced my heavy eyelids open, then snapped them shut when I was greeted with brilliant sunlight.

I groaned and the memories came flickering back piece by piece, like when I tried fast-forwarding through a video and only caught glimpses of the whole movie. A man in a mask. A bionic arm. Steve Rodgers. Lights shattering. A needle. A now familiar panic sent my heart racing but my limbs still felt too funny to move. Instead I blinked awake and looked around, since that was all my muddled brain would allow me to do.

I was in the fuselage of a jet. Bright sunlight streamed in through the round windows on either side. I looked out the window next to my seat and could see cheery blue skies and the sleek wing of the plane. The last thing I remembered, I was leaving work well past sunset. How long was I out? I was seated in an ivory leather chair that was too comfortable to be a commercial jet. Velvet curtains sectioned off the back of the plane.

I swallowed, my throat feeling raw. Then I remembered screaming and choking and my attacker bashing my face against a car window. My fingers, which were still tingling from the sedative, went to my nose and I felt the white bandage across the bridge. The initial panic of waking up in a strange place settled and the pain set in again. My entire face ached and I groaned. There were few things I was self confident enough to say I liked. My nose was one, and if that one armed freak ruined the one good feature on my face, there would be hell to pay.

The velvet curtains parted.

"Oh good," said a thickly accented voice. "You are awake."

It was a German accent. He rolled his 'w' into a 'v' and made 'awake' sound more like 'avake'

I looked up as the man who entered the cabin took a seat across the mahogany table in front of me. He was handsome, but much older than me. His head was shaved and he wore a monocle over one eye. He was suited in an Armani that likely cost more than my rent. He smiled.

"How are you feeling, Miss Hunt?" he asked, almost sincerely.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

He crossed his hands over the table, his beady eyes flickering over my face.

"Vivian," he called over his shoulder.

A flight attendant entered, barley acknowledging that she saw me, battered, bruised and sitting there against my will. "Herr Strucker?" she asked.

"A glass of water and some aspirin," he said, "Bring me her file as well. And I will take an Old Fashioned."

She nodded and left.

The man turned to me. "Do you know who I am?" he asked and I shook my head. The motion made the headache thunder through my skull. I winced and he gave me a pitying smile.

"I am sorry about the nose," he said, "The Winter Solider has never been careful with his victims. Though I am sure Pierce warned him not to hurt you, these things do happen. We bandaged the nose before takeoff, so you should be healed within—"

"What?" I asked, suddenly very alert.

He looked slightly puzzled at my interruption. "It was a minor, hairline fracture so—"

"No," I said, "D-did you say Pierce? As in, Secretary Peirce? Head of SHIELD and member of the World Security Council?"

"Ah," he replied slowly, like he said something he shouldn't have. "Yes."

Before he could elaborate like I wanted him to, the curtain parted and Vivian the stewardess returned, placing two white pills and a glass of water in front of me, and the Old Fashioned in front of Strucker. I glanced down at the aspirin, hesitated, but took them anyway. I wouldn't be kidnapped just to be poisoned on a private jet, and the pain in by body was begging for relief. The water felt like salvation going down my dry throat, and as much as I hated taking anything offered to me by these people, I was grateful. Strucker's finger tapped across a screen, seeming to forget our conversation.

He mentioned Alexander Pierce's name. And my kidnapper he called the Winter Solider. The two were working together to plot my abduction. I waited for him to say something more, but he kept his gaze on the screen.

"Where are we?" I finally asked.

"Somewhere over the Netherlands, I should imagine. We will be landing shortly," he said, not looking up. The white screen reflected off his monocle. I tried to see what he was looking at, but I couldn't make out any details. "You slept for a very long time. Eighteen hours or so, I should say."

"Slept, or was drugged?" I asked with familiar snark. Strucker looked up at me, but instead of looking annoyed, he gave a half smile.

"Again, I am sorry about that," he said and took a sip of his drink. He sighed and sat back in the leather chair. "Born in Destin, Florida to Anna and Henry Hunt," he said and I realized he was reading _my_ file. The thought made my stomach knot apprehensively. "Orphaned at age ten, graduated high school at age sixteen, studied at the Perelman School of Medicine with an undergraduate in genetics and biochemistry, employed at SHIELD for four years…very impressive resume Miss Hunt."

My fingers were gripping my water glass tight enough to shatter it, wondering how much information he had on me.

"W-w-what do you w-want?" I stuttered, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Why do you have that?"

I felt violated. This man before me, whose surname was the only thing I knew about him, was listing things off that a stranger shouldn't know. I had no idea where we were going, what kind of man sat across from me, and certainly no clue as to why I had been kidnapped, and yet Strucker read me my life like it was the cover story of _Time_ magazine. Not that my life was ever front cover worthy, but nuance.

Strucker looked up at me, placing the tablet on the table between us. "I am just wondering why SHIELD employs you as a lab tech when your credentials far exceed analyzing bloodwork," he said.

It was a chichi answer to my question, so I didn't dignify an answer. I stared at him.

"Miss Hunt I represent a division of Hydra that has been operating under peace keeping missions in Sokovia. Our main focus as of late has been developing advanced weaponry, manufactured with the power from the Loki's Scepter—"

"SHIELD has the Scepter."

" _Had_ , the Scepter," he said. "Hydra has been infiltrating SHIELD for years—"

I held up my hand to stop him.

"Back up," I said, "Peace keeping missions? You mean the negotiations SHIELD has held with the Sokovia rebels for the past year?"

Strucker pursed his lips, annoyed. "If you would just let me continue."

I nodded slowly, only because I had so many questions cramming themselves through my brain that the headache was coming back with a vengeance. I drew a breath through my nose, trying to calm down enough to listen to what he had to say.

"As I was saying," Strucker continued, this throaty German voice laced with irritation, "Hydra has been operating within SHIELD's ranks for years. We have had a hand in everything. Mission reports, financing, weapons manufacturing, communication; people from Alexander Pierce to the janitor on the third floor have been feeding Hydra valuable information—"

"Bernie?" I asked, my voice hitching slightly. The old man that mopped the training level after agents practiced was a soft-spoken, kind man. He once showed me pictures of his granddaughter.

"Bernard Vaughn is one of ours, yes," Strucker said. "Everything SHIELD has done has slipped right down the line to Hydra, including the Scepter. I was assigned to oversee the care of Loki's staff after the Battle of New York, but Director Fury kept his eyes, or rather, _eye_ , on things a little closely after that. Sokovia was in disarray and served as a perfect guise. I began ordering Hydra agents, poised as SHIELD operatives, to the country for peace keeping missions. In all actuality we secured an old fort and turned it into our main base of operations. Using the Scepters energy, we have been able to create weapons of mass destruction, furthering the works of Schmidt and Zola."

Strucker finally paused, gauging my reaction as he took another sip of his Old Fashioned.

I didn't know what to say, at a complete loss for words.

It was impossible, an infiltration at that magnitude. SHIELD would have noticed if their ranks were dirtied by moles, especially if there were as many as Strucker said there were. Alexander Pierce was trusted, second only to Directory Fury himself. If he was a traitor, then how many more were there? I thought about my fellow lab techs and the doctors in the medical bay, wondering if any of them were secret Hydra agents too, and if I had ever divulged a piece of valuable information to them. I guess this was the one upside of being on the bottom rung of the medical staff; I didn't have anything valuable worth sharing because they never told me anything.

Sokovia peace keeping missions were a separate department from the med bay so, while I had heard about it before, I had no way of knowing if there was any truth behind the words. My knowledge of the crumbling country was limited to what I had heard passed in the halls of headquarters. All I knew was that they were sending troops out periodically to try and breach some pact of cease fire between the rebels and the government. If Hydra had laced itself within SHIELD's ranks, then I suppose Hydra agents setting up a base in war torn Sokovia was just as plausible.

I slowly set my now empty glass on the table, the tiny muscles in my fingers strained from gripping it so hard.

"You're lying," I said, because I couldn't think of anything else to say.

Strucker snorted. "Please, the only liar here is that oaf Director Fury."

He gave the information to me so plainly and unapologetically that I knew he had to be telling the truth, but this had been kept secret for a reason, and I couldn't see why he was telling me about Hydra's slow but deliberate takeover of SHIELD. If he wanted information about the Avengers from me, he wasn't going to get it. I knew almost nothing past morphine and surgical stiches.

"What does this h-have to d-do with me?" I asked. Strucker leaned forwards again and I leaned back in my seat, putting space between us. I didn't feel good. _This_ didn't feel good. I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted an answer to my question.

"You graduated with your MD at twenty," he said, "Most doctors graduate in an average of ten years and it took you four—"

"Well they let me couple my residency with SHIELD employment so…"

He ignored me, a smart move, and continued, "You have a brilliant mind and have since you were very young, according to our records. I would like for you to join our ranks. Hydra needs a doctor like you."

The first thought that came to my mind was ' _no way in hell'_ but something he said stopped the words from actually forming on my lips.

"You need a doctor?" I asked. "I thought you were building weapons?"

"We are," Strucker said and his lips split into a wicked grin that made me skin crawl. "We have touched on the subject of human experimentation but have not, unfortunately, reached a masterful level. Our current head doctor, Doctor List, has been…reassigned and is no longer able to focus all of his attention on our volunteers. We need a new young mind to help us harness the Scepters power and stabilize it enough to enhance homosapien ability."

I opened my mouth to respond, closed it, then opened it again.

"You—you're talking about taking foreign, alien matter and manipulating it enough to inject into humans?" I said disbelievingly.

Strucker gave a short nod. "That is the gist of it, yes."

I tried to speak again but the words failed me. Again.

What Strucker was talking about was near impossible.

Seeing the ludicrous look on my face, Strucker elaborated. "We've gathered a handful of Sokovian volunteers, completely willing to undergo human experimentation. The first experiments have all failed and Doctor List suggested we bring on some new minds to help solve the mystery."

"There is no mystery!" I snapped. "You're taking something extremely powerful and confining it to something extremely human! You're trying to shove a mooring rope through a needle!"

Strucker regarded me lazily, calmly. "We only have a number of willing volunteers left. If you help us, you could create the most advanced weaponry this century has ever seen."

"At what risk?"

"Sacrifice is necessary for the greater good. These young volunteers are fighting for a new country, a new world. They understand that. Hydra is merely helping them along."

"This is despicable."

"This is progress," Strucker said. "SHIELD has made their followers into cowards by telling them that no sacrifice is worth it, and yet they are more than willing forfeit their own morals for their own success. SHIELD is full of hypocrites."

I brought my fingers to my temples and rubbed my head, then winced. The bruising on my face throbbed when I touched it so I lowered my hands.

"Why me?" I sighed, feeling exhausted, despite spending the last eighteen hours unconscious. "I'm sure there are other Hydra doctors capable and willing. Why go through all the trouble of kidnapping me."

"Because whether or not you see it, you are one of the brightest minds this generation has curated," Strucker said and I resisted the urge to laugh out loud at his statement. I may be smart but my sentimentality and wisdom reached the length of a quarter. "And I have my reasons," he added as an afterthought.

When I made no attempt to argue, he continued.

"Director Fury has been undermining your abilities since the day he and Phil Coulson knocked on your foster parents' door," he said. I would have asked how he'd known about that, but a quick glance at the tablet holding my file told me I already knew. "It is time for you to live up to your potential, and Hydra plans to give that to you by offering free rein so long as you are willing to help us."

"And if I say no?"

Strucker smiled. "I will kill you. I am an amiable man, but I am still Hydra…and it is like you said. There are hundreds of other Hydra doctors waiting for the opportunity to show their skill."

Tears burned at my eyes because I knew he wouldn't hesitate to pull a trigger if I denied the offer. I turned to look out the jet's window swallowing the tears. _Fuck_. I was not going to let him see me cry, but the proposal laid before me was terrifying. Work for the enemy, or die. I wasn't stupid enough to attempt human experimentation that had failed up until this point, but I also wasn't noble enough to make a martyr of myself. A failed human experimentation likely meant one thing: death. It was either me or these Sokovian volunteers Strucker told me about. One of us died, either way. My hands, clenched in my lap, began to shake and I thought about the irony of how often I had joked about my death. Now that it was tangible, I wanted to take it all back.

Strucker turned to look out the window and I focused my gaze enough to realize we were descending over Sokovia's capital.

"Do not make your decision yet," Strucker said as though one was obviously more appealing than the other. "I would like for you to see first hand what we have accomplished at the base. You can meet some of the volunteers and talk with them. I am sure, in time, you will understand Hydra's convictions are not so radical. We fight for the same thing SHIELD fights for. Progress. Peace. A brighter future."

"By taking away someone's freedom?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse as I held back the tears.

"Let us not be dramatic," Strucker replied.

We were silent the remainder of our flight.

I watched out the window as we descended, seeing Novi Grad valleyed between two mountain ranges, but registering nothing. My mind was busy frantically searching for a way out of this predicament, a loophole that would put me back in the States with the Avengers and Strucker and the rest of his Hydra murderers behind bars. When we touched down on a little air strip, I was still out of ideas. I toyed with the thought of making a run for it the moment my feet hit the concrete tarmac, but that was pushed aside when I saw two black SUV's pull up to the jet and armored Hydra agents file out, guns at the ready. I wouldn't get two steps before being shot down.

Strucker stood up and indicated for me to follow the stewardess towards the front of the plane. I did, dwarfed by his tall frame and hating the idea of him standing behind me. Vivian lowered the air stairs and Strucker and I stepped down towards the armed vehicles.

I didn't want this. I wasn't _supposed_ to be tangled up in something like this. Kidnappings and science experiments and Hydra, that was what special agents and the Avengers dealt with. Not lab techs whose most dangerous injury on the job was a papercut. I glanced over my shoulder at Strucker. He indicated for me to climb into the SUV.

"Please," he said, "Do not make this harder than it needs to be."

I turned and ducked into the vehicle, two Hydra agents sliding in on either side of me, because I wasn't sure what else to do. I wasn't an Avenger. I wasn't a world class assassin. I wasn't even a commander like Maria Hill. I was Faye Hunt. A girl who was too chickenshit to tell Hydra I would rather die than strike a deal with them.


	3. No Turning Back

Driving through Novi Grad was like working our way through the labyrinth. The streets were crowded and tightly packed, with towering stone buildings walling either side. We drove slowly through the city, giving me a chance to see the crumbling capital up close. I took everything in with measured concentration, noting waterlogged posters, the rippled glass windows and the rebels independency pamphlets fluttering across the street, figuring this would be my last glance of the world, outside of the Hydra base Strucker and his men were taking me to. It was a dismal final look, but at least now I knew what the fuss was over Sokovia.

We passed a group of protesters, looking as mangy as the wild dogs that roamed the alleys. They shouted at the shiny SUV as we crawled past, banging on the windows and the hood until the driver laid on his horn. They slowly parted like the Red Sea to let us through. I wasn't sure what language they were speaking. I turned to Strucker, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

"What are they saying?" I asked.

Strucker sighed. "The literal translation is 'A borrowed country, we will no longer be' but more or less they are asking for independence. The Sokovian people are like sheep without shepards. Since its founding it has been conquered and captured by neighboring nations. They were Russians, they were Romanians, they were Bulgarians, they were even French back in early eighteen hundreds. They share their history with whoever claimed them at the time. They have never been their own nation."

"What are they now?"

"Now they are a hapless country. They are under a military coupe until they agree upon a form of government., but, given the history, it will not last long. Since they have never had independence, they do not have the resources to sustain themselves."

The vehicles bumped over cobbled streets, swaying me between the two Hydra agents that sat on either side of me. Someone in the crowed threw a rock at the windshield. It clinked and bounded off the bullet proof glass. "They seem to really like you." I muttered.

"The Sokovians are suffering and SHIELD and Hydra are here bleeding their resources. Of course they do not like us," he turned in his seat and glanced at me. "But they have a special hatred in their hearts for SHIELD, specifically Stark Industries."

"Why?"

"Who else gave their enemies weapons to control their homeland?"

I looked out the window as the SUV passed a graffitied stone wall. Mr. Stark's insignia was crudely spray painted across the stones, and over it was Sokovian profanities. I sat back in my seat.

"Sokovian's have reasons to hate a lot of people. They hate the Germans for monopolizing their copper export, they hate Americans for meddling with their politics, they hate SHIELD for intruding on their riots. They blame everyone else for their problems, but the real issues come from within. They need strong leaders to rebuild this country, but they haven economically interdependent on other nations for so long they have forgotten what is means to be Sokovian. I fully expect them to be under siege again with in two or three years."

It was silent the rest of the drive. Sokovia was pretty, but mismatched from centuries of someone else's designs. Romanesque churches sat against stores with Russian architecture influences. Old timber frame houses looked awkward behind street lights and telephone wires. The people didn't fare much better. They glared at us as we passed and I was grateful for the tinted windows so they couldn't see my face. They looked desperate, waiting for change to happen. Even the sky seemed to sense the hopelessness that settled over the valley. Gone was the bright blue, replaced with a hazy summer smog.

We reached the outskirts of Novi Grad where strait, stone streets turned to patchwork farmland and then forest. Past the towering pines, craggy mountains rose from the ground like spikes on the spine of a sleeping dragon.

I leaned forward in my seat as the fort rose out of the trees, situated on a rolling foothill. It was squat with gun port windows and a low roof. It looked sturdy, menacing. The SUV rocked violently and we were suddenly thumping over abandoned rail roads towards a tunnel. The driver flicked the headlights on as we rode underground towards the center of the fort.

I tried to remember our path as we parked and Strucker led the way up a tight, winding staircase, the kind that only allowed us to go up single file; through the tunnel, a slight right until we reached the foundation under the fort. Through the heavy wooden doors, up a flight of stairs, down a long dimly lit corridor. I would need to know my way out if I ever had the chance to escape.

The fort was dark and quiet and smelled musky. Bare pipes ran the length of the walls and single light bulbs lit the corridors with a dim yellow glow. The only way I knew we were finally above ground was when I passed a gun port and could see out into the courtyard. The halls were cramped and often times I had to turn my upper body to let other Hydra workers pass. No one seemed to notice, or care, that my face looked like it had been hit with a meat tenderizer, and that I was trailed by Hydra agents carrying assault rifles. Apparently, my forced presence didn't warrant any kind of concern.

Strucker lead the way down another corridor, up a few stone steps, and pushed open a heavy steel door. There was a large window on the far wall, and another corridor to my left. Men sat at computers, each wearing headsets and typing away on their keyboards. They looked up as we entered, a few gazes lingering curiously on my face. Strucker stepped down to talk to one of the Hydra operatives, and the two agents trailing me moved further into the control room. I glanced at the hallway, wondering how far I could get before I was caught.

Probably not far.

I swallowed and glanced at Strucker, shifting uneasily on my feet. I wasn't sure what to do with myself.

"Where's Doctor List?" Strucker was asking one of the workers.

I glanced around the control room again, doing a double taken at a young Hydra operative's computer screen. Forgetting my initial fear, I wondered down the steps until I was standing behind the worker who was watching news footage on his computer. He glanced over his shoulder at me.

"What?" he asked, irritated.

"Can you turn that up?" I asked breathlessly and stepped closer. His gaze slid to Strucker before he clicked the volume on.

An armored vehicle, one I recognize since it was parked at SHIELD headquarters from sun up to sun down every day, was speeding down a street, trailed by police cars with flashing lights. The windshield was shattered and bullet holes decorated one side.

"…unable to confirm the identity of the SUV driver," the news reporter was saying, "Seems they are headed down 17th in Arlington according to the chopper cams. No word yet of the standoff that happened moments before the chase…"

I watched as Director Nick Fury's SUV braked, then reversed to pin a police officer between the bumper and another car. He maneuvered The Black Beast forward, sending a car careening into another police officer, the man going through the window of a bus stop. I leaned over, one hand on the Hydra man's chair, another clutching the edge of the desk. He shifted, but his personal space was the least of my concerns.

Crooked police men continued to fire at Director Fury, ignoring the people around them that were screaming and taking cover. The news reporter had stopped talking, stunned to silence. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as a semi blew through an intersection and took out two police cars. I knew Directory Fury well enough to know that the police following him were operating outside the law, and for a moment, a feeling of relief spread through me as he finally managed a getaway. If anyone could out smart Hydra, it was him. I had no idea what was happening, but Director Fury was in trouble, and if he was in trouble, all of SHIELD would be spiraling down that same rabbit hole sooner rather than later.

Then the chopper cam switched angles and I saw him. The man who had attacked me the other night. The man that turned me over to Hydra. The Winder Soldier.

"No."

He stood in the middle of the street, looking like a Son of Perdition straight from the bowels of hell. He fired something, a disk, from his weapon. It skidded along the asphalt and detonated under The Black Beast. Director Fury's SUV was upturned in a cloud of fire and smoke in a manner of seconds. It slid a hundred or so feet before finally stopping. The Winter Solider lowered his weapon slowly and walked towards the director.

"No!"

"Enough."

The computer screen went blank.

" _No!_ " I shouted and turned to the Hydra agent next to me. "Turn it back on!" He met my gaze but did nothing. I spun around to look at Strucker, standing behind us and looking very off put. "Turn it on!" I snapped at him.

Strucker snorted. "No."

" _Please!_ I need to know what is happening out there! I need to know if Directory Fury is alive!"

"Miss Hunt you are no longer affiliated with SHIELD, you work for Hydra now, so I suggest you stop concerning yourself with them," Strucker replied.

I took a menacing step towards him and an agent across the room lifted his rifle. I heard the click of the safety switch. I stopped, feeling a swell of emotions in my chest. Desperation, fear, confusion. SHIELD was crumbling at the hands of Hydra while I was stuck halfway across the country. I needed to be back in America, at the med bay, so I could help.

"Take me back," I said, my voice sounding pleading and pathetic. "You've got the wrong person! I-I can't do this!"

Strucker reached out and put his hand on my shoulders. I jerked away from him. He sighed through his nose and stepped closer to me, looking down at me steadily. I had to raise my chin to meet his eyes.

"I can tell you all day that what we are doing here is special, and that we need someone special to help us complete it," he said, his voice easy, "But what good will that do? Let me introduce you to our head doctor. You can see what we are working towards and you can speak with the very people involved. I can not take you back. The only way for you, now, is forward. The sooner you understand that, the easier all of this will be."

I scowled at him, my lip curling in hate. He spoke like a father talking to a child. It felt patronizing.

He turned and indicated with his fingers for me to follow.

I glanced around the control room, which had fallen silent. The Hydra operative seated at the desk next to us watched me curiously. I looked at the agent across the room, who had lowered his rifle. Again, I had no other option, so I followed Strucker out of the room and down the dark hall, keeping my gaze lowered.

He lead me through winding, dim corridors and I had already forgotten the way we had come. Down more flights of stairs. The lower parts of the fort were muggy in the mid-summer heat. As we stepped into a wide, low celling room, I could hear the buzz of fans in the background. The room was cramped with steel tables and computers that reminded me a little of the lab back home, except bleak and darker and less sanitary. Hydra workers strode back and forth across the room, pausing only to say, "Herr Strucker" with a nod as they passed.

"This, is the wing where we conduct our experiments," Strucker said and he lead me towards a short man with salt and pepper hair seated at a lab table in the middle of the room. "And this, is our head doctor, Doctor Dieter List."

The man named Doctor List looked up from his computer. He removed his glasses and stood up, regarding me curiously.

"So, this is our newest addition?" Doctor List said. His accent was not as strong as Strucker's. He was an inch or so shorter than me, which was saying something. I was shorter than most people. He had a stern looking face, but instead of feeling threatened by him—like I was with Strucker—he seemed more inquisitive, analytical. The typical countenance of a well-educated man. He stuck out his hand to me. "A pleasure."

I glanced down at his hand, but did not take it. He lowered it slowly.

"Still adjusting, I see," he said, excusing my bad manners. He was stupider than he looked if he thought I was going to be cordial to the people who took me hostage. He glanced at Strucker.

"I thought we could show Miss Hunt what we are working towards?" Strucker suggested.

Doctor List bobbed his head in a nod. "Of course," he said.

Strucker gave a tight-lipped smile that did not reach his eyes. "Excellent. I have other business to attend to, so I will leave you to it." He waved his hand dismissively before turning and leaving.

I stood there uncomfortably, eyeing Doctor List like he was a snake; seemingly minding his own business until he was ready to strike. He indicated to his nose. "Looks like you had a time getting here," he said.

I frowned. "You could say that."

Doctor List shrugged, taking his seat at the computer again. He indicated to the chair next to him and I slowly lowered myself in it. The snake bite never came. He replaced his glasses calmly.

"Unfortunate," he commented as he typed. "If it's any consolation, I suggested a quiet meeting with an open offer to come work for Hydra, but Strucker and Pierce both thought it would be prudent to handle things more…zealously."

I wasn't sure how he expected me to respond, so I reverted to my best form of communication: a disgusted scowl.

Doctor List ignored my expression, bringing up information on the screen. The medical practitioner in me took over and I leaned in closer, curiosity outweighing cautionary.

"Since having the Scepter, I've been able to harness just enough energy to create a viable serum. It's crude, at best, but we never expected to be able to malleate the energy, let alone turn it into a liquid form, so what we have is quite an achievement in and of itself," Doctor List commented, pulling up a list of the serums' chemical compounds. Some I recognized, others I had no idea how to begin to pronounce. I assumed that those were the alien elements extracted from the Scepter. "I've been using notes from past scientists who have attempted the same thing; Erskine, Zola, even the lab notes from Thaddeus Ross."

"The man who created the Hulk?" I asked.

Doctor List nodded. "Yes. We've forgone the use of gamma radiation specifically for that reason. You have met Zola's experiment, the Winter Solider, and seen first hand how unstable he is. While that is a combination of scientific experiments and conditioning, we still decided to go a safer direction. Howard Stark's—"

"Stark had his hand in this?" I interrupted.

"Yes," Doctor List replied, now pulling up Howard Stark's file on the computer to let me skim through his information. "Back in the 90's he recreated the serum, but on top of enhancing strength, accelerated healing and brain reactivity, it brought out an aggressive side of the assassins that was uncontrollable. So I have scrapped most of his notes too. Erskine and his super solider serum from World War II is the closest thing we have to what we are trying to achieve here in Sokovia."

"If Erskine's final project is what you want, why not just recreate his experiments?" I asked, then internally kicked my own ass. If I didn't want to help the enemy, I should start by not making suggestions on how to improve their human experimentation.

Doctor List smiled. "Throughout history his field notes have been changed and lost. We only have a bit of the original information he was working with. Besides, we found the Scepter energy to be the most direct form of human manipulation. By studying past scientific advancements, and conducting our own experiments, we have come closer than ever before to creating a serum so pure it could change the course of history. Working for SHIELD, I'm sure you have seen first hand what the Scepter can do. Imagine harnessing its energy to improve human life."

I remembered vividly Loki's presence on Earth and the Battle of New York. It was one of the few times I had been called into the main floor of the med bay to help the doctors. Civilian casualties had been so widespread that SHIELD had opened its doors to the public. I remember the bay being overcrowded that day, everyone packed in operating rooms like sardines, smelling of copper and sweat and dirt. I remember running around, hands covered in someone else's blood, trying to refill dwindling supplies, comfort hysteric people, and piece together what was happening a thousand feet above our heads.

"I've heard of it's power," I replied, my voice small.

Doctor List clicked off his computer and turned to me.

"As a fellow doctor, I know you share a similar curiosity and excitement that I do for the possibility of man-made superheroes. But I also know what you are struggling with. Strucker will convince you to work for Hydra by any means necessary, and while you don't have much of a choice, you should know all the facts. Before we introduce you to the volunteers, you must remember that they are here on their own accord. We all are, except you of course. We started with nineteen Sokovian volunteers but we are down to four now."

"Why?" I asked.

"The rest did not survive the experiments."

I stayed still, trying not portray the alarm I felt at his words. I didn't need clarification on what he meant.

"When we presented the opportunity to the Sokovian people, dozens volunteered to help their country. We weeded through the list of names, picking out those that were the most eligible for human experimentation. No one underage, no one with a family. No one with debilitating illnesses, people of average weight and average IQ, under forty five years old and so forth. We thought that if we used stronger bodies, the serum would have better chances of taking, and the volunteers would have a better chance at survival."

"Did they know the risks when hey volunteered?" I asked.

Doctor List pursed his lips, looking uneasy. "Our process is top secret information on a need to know basis only."

"So that's a no," I said accusingly.

"Correct," List said, studying my face. I tried to seem passive, not wanting to let on how frightened I was. I wanted to seem strong, even though I felt that at any moment I would break down.

"I know what you are thinking. I know how you must be feeling," he continued and I couldn't help but think that, no, Doctor List had _no idea_ what I was going through. "You've been trained to believe Hydra is your enemy, but perhaps that isn't the case. Maybe you were meant to be here, rather than with SHIELD."

"I wasn't trained, I _know_ Hydra is the enemy," I snapped. "My place is with SHIELD."

"You place?" he asked. "You mean in the lab filing reports?"

I didn't reply.

Doctor List sighed. "Director Fury has given you the short end of the stick. I knew that from the moment I read your file. SHIELD has always been too cautionary with their brilliant minds, like keeping them on a tight enough leash means they are able to control them better. That's why Hydra has been able to create more in the past few months than SHIELD has ever had the audacity to attempt, because we let our people grow to their full protentional."

"You operate without moral obligation," I pointed out viciously, hating the way Doctor List derogated SHIELD, "Of course we haven't attempted what you have. We have integrity."

"Sacrifices must be made for the greater good," was his simple reply, "SHIELD loses sight of the final objective because they lack the courage to push the boundaries. It's simple as that."

"And the final objective?"

"Power, peace, sovereignty, unity, the ideology of the common good before individual good," Doctor List replied.

"You sound like Strucker," I said with a snort.

Doctor List's face darkened. "He and I share similar beliefs, but do not make the mistake of thinking that we are anything alike."

I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hands, careful not to bump my nose or touch the bruises around my neck. I uttered a groan into my hands, feeling the choke of tears in the back of my throat. I wanted this nightmare to end and for all of this to just be a terrible dream. I wanted to wake up, and go back to my mediocre lab job where I was safe and had good benefits.

"Miss Hunt, please," Doctor List said, his voice low but firm. "You need to pull yourself together. Strucker will play nice so long as you do what he asks, but his patience will not last forever. Either work with Hydra or face death, but make your choice before Strucker makes it for you."

I looked up at him through my fingers.

"If you hate the idea of working for Hydra, then think of this as saving people's lives. There are four volunteers left. Fifteen have already perished on the table. If you can fine tune this serum, then no one else has to die."

"I just want to go home," I said lamely, my voice barley a few decibels above a whisper.

Doctor List rubbed his eyes underneath his spectacles and stood up.

"I don't have that power," he said, "But I can take you to the temporary room we have fashioned for you on the base. You can clean up and change your clothes and get some rest. I'm sure you could use something to eat too. Take a moment to think about what you have learned so far. You might surprise yourself."

Doctor List turned and maneuvered his way around equipment and other Hydra operatives. I watched him exit the lab, my stomach pinching at the mention of food. The last thing I remember eating was a coffee the intern had offered me two days ago. Pulling myself up, I followed the doctor on slow, unsteady feet, dread leaking its way into my body along with the exhaustion and worry I had been feeling since I woke up on the jet that morning.


	4. While We Sleep

Doctor List took me to my berth room, and the sight of the windowless, drafty room made me want to take my chances with the Winter Solider again. Anything was better than spending God knows how long in that small space, even if it was only for sleeping. I stepped into the room and looked around. There was an old mini fridge in the corner, humming softly, and next to it a little space heater. I immediately went to it and turned it on. The room wasn't cold, per se, but it wasn't exactly warm or homey either. My bed was a spring cot with a mattress and a stack of blankets. There was a dresser in the corner and that was the extent of room décor. Only the bare necessities.

"I'm sorry it's not much," Doctor List was saying. "The few Hydra agents that stay at the fort have a bunk room, but they don't fare much better. At least you'll have your privacy here." He nodded to the heater that buzzed as it oscillated. "It's an old building and it can get cold at night, even in late summer," he continued, "The bathroom's through there. Questions?"

I shook my head, feeling numb.

"Right then," he said quietly and left, closing the door after him.

I swallowed hard and went to the fridge, popping it open. It was stocked with an assortment of food and water bottles. My stomach pinched with hunger, practically rolling over itself in want of food, but my appetite wasn't there. Nothing appealed to me, not even those tiny oranges I never let myself buy because I ate them too fast. I slammed it closed and went to the dresser, pulling open the drawers. My scrubs were folded neatly and some thick sweaters I noticed were new. I checked the tags; not mine, but my size. I shivered at the thought of a Hydra agent going through my clothes and person belongings, scrounging around my apartment for things to take back to Sokovia. The idea of Hydra agents buying me clothes more suitable for Sokovian weather made me sick. I pulled open another drawer. Wool socks and my underwear. I closed them and went to the bathroom, yanking on the chain for the light. In one corner was a bare shower head and a drain beneath it on the tiled floor. A shower curtain hung around it. There was a toilet and a pedestal sink, and a spotted mirror. No bathtub, no towel rack, not even a plug in for a hair dryer. Functional and bare and completely uninviting, like the room itself wanted me to leave.

I stepped closer to the mirror, grimacing at my warped reflection. The swelling in my nose wasn't bad, but it was still red and tender beneath the bandage. The shadows under my eyes had turned to purple and blue bruises. Yellow fingerprints dotted my neck where the Winter Solider had literally squeezed the life out of me. I sucked in a sharp breath at the memory of his blackened face. His strong fingers. The feel of the cold metal against my hot skin.

My face looked like an artists' apron, but not in a good way. That many colors; red and blue and black and brown, shouldn't be on a person's face. It was a stark reminder of the hell I had gone through the last few days.

The hell I was _going_ through, I reminded myself.

 _My own mother wouldn't recognize me_ , I thought with sadistical humor. It's funny, see? Because she's dead.

I swallowed again, trying to calm the storm brewing in my chest, in the back of my throat, in my brain. I fumbled with the mirror, struggling to breath as I pulled it open. The shelf inside was lined with my toiletries: razor, toothbrush, soap, the works. My hands clumsily pushed them aside while my brain pushed aside the thought that Hydra agents had been in my apartment, packing away my personal belongings while I was being attacked in the SHIELD parking garage. My comb tumbled off the shelf and into the sink but I didn't care. I pulled out my bottle of Xanax, fumbling with the lid. The panic was settling in. The fear, and voices, the worry, came at me from all directions and it felt like my heart was contracting. I finally managed, with shaking hands, to get the lid off and tip two pills into my hand. I swallowed them, then took two more.

Sucking in gulps of air, I left the bathroom, my comb and pill canister still in the sink, and went to the bed. I sunk down on the mattress, dropping my head between my knees.

I tried to make myself think. Think, think, think.

SHIELD would know if one of theirs went missing. By now, the other lab techs would have notice my absence at the medical bay. I'd had episodes before. Days where I couldn't drag myself out of bed, spending hours sleeping or just staring at the texture of the drywall and avoiding calls from work. But this time, they would send someone to the apartment and see that it was stripped, see that I wasn't just in bad need of a session with the departments shrink. They would have to know then that I had been kidnapped.

They would send someone for me.

My breathing slowed.

There was some comfort in that thought. Trying to escape seemed out of the question. Even if I could get out of the fort, Novi Grad was crawling with Hydra agents posed as SHIELD, stirring up trouble in the capital. I wasn't sure if I could ask the locals for help. Even if I could speak Sokovian, would they be willing to help an American? Willing to help someone affiliated with the Avengers? I wasn't sure.

I pulled my head up, only to sink onto the bed and pull one of the heavy blankets over my exhausted body.

I suddenly remembered Director Fury and the trouble he was in. If the Winter Solider had him captured, then any chance of SHIELD rescuing me diminished significantly. If Director Fury was in trouble, all of SHIELD was in trouble, and they wouldn't notice a missing lab tech. I realized I had no idea what was happening back in DC. I wasn't sure how bad things were back home, so I had no idea if someone was coming for me. For all I knew, I was just part of the body count, lost in the chaos of a crumbling headquarters.

That thought scared me, but the drugs were starting to kick in and I was too tired to put up a front about it. My head felt heavy.

I didn't know how long I would be in Hydra's hands, but Doctor List had warned me about Strucker. I had to make a decision—for the time being—until I could figure a way out of this place. Play their games long enough to find a way to send for help, or plan an escape. Then maybe I could live to see one more day.

My thoughts bled together.

Right now, I needed sleep.

Make a decision.

Experiment on innocent people, or loose my life.

Tired.

Loose my life, and innocent people still get experimented on.

Tired, tired, tired.

Think, think, think.

* * *

There was a knock at my door.

I jerked awake.

I had fallen sleep. I wasn't sure for how long, but it had been a deep sleep. The kind that I had to claw my way out of. The kind that came from taking one too many minor tranquilizers from a small orange bottle. I sat up slowly as another knock sounded against the metal door. My limbs felt stiff, but my head was remarkably better, albeit lagging with serene type of drowsiness. I scrubbed my eyes with the palm of my hands and stood up, going to the door.

It was the Hydra agent from the other day. The one in the control room, who's computer I watched the news report on.

"Doctor List wants to see you," he said simply.

"Can I change?" I asked and he nodded. I closed the door slowly and went to the dresser, pulling out a set of scrubs. I went into the bathroom, running the tap as cold as it would go. I splashed some water on my face, gingerly pulling the wet bandage off my nose. It was premature, but I wasn't about to go around looking like I just got out of the ring with Seth Rollins. Plus, Strucker had said it was only minor fracture. I quickly changed then met the Hydra agent at the door.

He lead me down a series of corridors and stairs, taking me back towards the laboratory Doctor List and I had met in the other day. We walked in silence.

Most of the way.

"What's your name?" I asked after a few minutes.

"Eames," he replied.

I chewed my lip, taking a few seconds to try and figure out the best way to articulate my next words. I finally blurted out, "Can you help me?"

He looked at me over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. If that didn't scream articulate, I don't know what would. But I needed his help. I needed to know what happened to Director Fury.

"D-do you know what's happening out there?" I asked. "Wh-what's happening to SHIELD?"

"Yes, but we're under a strict gag by Strucker not to give you any information," he said simply.

"Please. I'm not supposed to be h-here," I said, "I need help. The very least you can do is give me something."

The agent, Eames, snorted with a laugh and my hopes plummeted as quickly as they had been raised.

"We all know why you're here. Everyone has been debriefed on your situation. Look around," he said, waving a hand vaguely as two operatives passed, talking to each other and not taking notice of us. "No one is going to help you. No one cares."

"Please," I begged, looking at him. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. Late twenties, early thirties at the most. Platinum blonde hair like a palomino. "Don't you have friends and family? A home? I have to know that they're alright."

Not that I really had friends. Or a family, for that matter. But if I could appeal to him somehow, then maybe I could figure out what was happening; why SHIELD was falling, how much infiltration Hydra had succeeded in, if Directory Fury was still alive…

He didn't answer me, continuing to stride down the corridor to the laboratory.

"Please!" I practically shouted. I grabbed onto his arm, yanking him around to turn and face me. His free hand flew to the Glock on his thigh, ready. "Where is your humanity! I had a life before this!"

A life of black coffee and paperwork, at least.

His brow furrowed and he frowned.

"Careful," he warned, his finger drifting towards the trigger on his weapon. He hadn't upholstered it, but the threat was there. "You may have been chosen to carry on the experiments, but you are still expendable. You're still considered a prisoner of Hydra."

Slowly, I released his arm. He straightened with a huff, turning and marching toward the lab again. I almost had to jog to keep up with him.

"And if you're really curious," he said after a few seconds of silence. "I do have friends, and a family. And I miss them, just as much as you miss yours."

His answer surprised me somewhat, and I wasn't sure what to think of it. It prompted my next question.

"Where are you from?"

"A little town in eastern Austria, actually," he replied over his shoulder, "I spend half the year there, the other half here, working communication in the main control room."

I nodded, slightly dumbfounded.

Whenever I thought about Hydra, it was always the black masked, unfeeling face of the enemy. It wasn't a man with blonde hair who wanted to get back home to Austria as much I wanted to get back home to America. It was a cold prison cell with torture devices, not a room with a bed and a heater.

I shook away the feeling of Eames' words.

It didn't change the fact that I was taken against my will. It didn't change the fact that the Winter Solider had used my face as a punching bag, or the fact that they were forcing me to carry out human experimentation at gun point. Hydra was the enemy. These people, though they were more similar to me than I would have like, were still my captors. A bit of kindness and understanding did not undo the misery they had done to me. Starve a dog, and he'd be grateful for a bone.

Eames stopped at a turn, pointing down the corridor. "That door leads to the lab. Doctor List should be on the main level with the volunteers."

He didn't wait for me to answer, or watch to make sure I did what I was told. He turned and strode off, probably to get back to his post in the control room. I glanced down the stone hall, slowly slinking towards the lab. A flicker of flight passed through me, an urge to run and find a way out, but I would probably be gunned down before I got to a door. I stifled the feeling. I told myself to wait. Running wasn't the best option, at least not right now. If I was going to manage an escape, it would take some careful planning. Until then, do as I was told.

Play their games.

Save the volunteers.

Escape.

What a shitty plan.

I pulled the heavy door open. People in white coats bustled through the lab, battling for space with the technology and supplies that took up most of the room. I spied Doctor List, standing at the far end of the room. Against the wall was a series of glass cells that looked similar to my room. Actually, they looked similar to the guinea pig cages at a pet store. The kind that little kids tapped on and laughed as the cavy was scrambling. I assumed that the people that resided in them probably fared as good as the guinea pigs. Each of the rooms, perfect for observing volunteers, had a bed and a metal dresser like mine. A few had personal touches; a stack of books, some artwork, a little potted fern, but mostly they were bland. All of them were empty.

I moved towards Doctor List, who caught my eye from across the room. He excused himself from the young man he was talking to. 'Young man' was a bit of an exaggeration. The kid couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. Even so, from far away I could still tell he was a good head taller than me and twice as wide.

Doctor List met me in the center of the lab, blocking my view of the young volunteer he was speaking to. I assumed he was a volunteer, because he wasn't dressed like a doctor, or in the military garb of a Hydra operative. He was in a suit of grey track pants and a short sleeve shirt. He didn't bother looking over at me.

I turned my attention to Doctor List.

"Strucker thought it would be a good idea to meet some of the volunteers," Doctor List said carefully. "But I must warn you about a few things first. You saw the state of the capital coming in, so you can guess they don't take kindly to Americans—"

"Yet another reason I shouldn't be here," I interrupted dryly.

"I've talked with them and they know to be on their best behavior, even so, don't give them reason to hate you. By that, I mean it would be prudent to keep under warps the fact that you were formally SHIELD."

"Not formally. SHIELD," I corrected.

"I wouldn't parade that," Doctor List warned. "These volunteers have been seriously hurt by Stark Industries and the Avengers. Many of them displaced, having lost friends and family in the endless warfare that tears their home apart. I know what you're playing at. You want to find a way to get out of here but I can assure you the volunteers will be no help. Even if they were willing, they don't hold much power here at the base. Their freedom may be more extensive than yours, but not by much. They wouldn't be any help."

"You're really selling this dream job, Doctor List," I replied. Sarcasm, the one true defense I had against my haywire emotions. Infuriate the enemy so they didn't know how much I was hurting. So they didn't know how scared I was becoming, because one by one my options of escape were slipping away.

Doctor List sighed at my comment. "The volunteers are here on their own accord. They've signed wavers and releases. They _want_ to be here. Don't make it difficult for them."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the state of the previous volunteers does not need to be disclosed to them."

"Meaning you don't want them to know that the rate of survival so far has been _zero_."

"Yes, well, that power now resides with you, doesn't it Miss Hunt?" Doctor List replied, adjusting his glasses irritably. He was quickly losing patience with me, but I couldn't stop. "Remember what I said yesterday. You're walking on thin ice right now. One slip up and Strucker will have his way with you. I'd hate to see that happen."

I felt a little jolt through my body. There it was again, a semblance of kindness. Despite his annoyance, I detected sympathy at the edge of Doctor List's features. I wasn't sure if it was directed at me, or if he was more concerned about having to find another replacement doctor if Strucker buried me six feet under. I told myself it was the latter, otherwise I found it harder to hate him, and that made my situation that much more confusing.

When I didn't say anything, he seemed to take it as a silent agreement. He turned and lead the way back to the volunteer.

"Illya," he said. "I'd like you to meet Doctor Hunt."

I liked that sound of that. Doctor. For someone who had her MD, it was the first time I had been referred to by my actual title. The volunteer turned to face me, staring unabashedly at my black and blue face. I scowled at him, hoping that he would have the decency to look away, but he didn't even blink. I was usually very good about turning people off, but he didn't seem to care. Damn, this place was weakening the one super power I had; being super unapproachable. He stuck his hand out for me to shake, but being that he was much taller than me, he over shot his aim. His fingers pointed at my chest and I had to awkwardly meet his hand higher than what was considered normal.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi." Up close, I realized he wasn't even looking at my face. His gaze was about an inch above my head. Then the penny dropped, about two minutes too late. "You're blind," I said, surprised and without an ounce of subtly.

 _Way to have some decorum there, Faye._

His eyes were blue, but a milky, soft blue that looked straight ahead without really seeing. His eyelashes were pale. His lips split into a wide grin at my statement and he dropped my hand. Doctor List reached behind Illya and grabbed a file off the table, handing it to me. I flipped it open, forcing my eyes onto the paper. I had been staring, and I didn't have an excuse for it, just blatant, open curiosity.

"I see why you recruited her," Illya said and I winced at the word 'recruited' like I had a choice to turn down the offer. "Nothing gets past her," he said to Doctor List. I would have blushed at the jest, if I were the blushing type.

"Illya is one of our more…amicable volunteers," List said.

"That means I'm his favorite," Illya replied and Doctor List's lips quirked up. I glanced between the two uncertainly before looking down at Illya's file again. I knew what Doctor List was hinting at. He was telling me that Illya wouldn't feel the need to spit on me for being American, or SHIELD, or whatever.

"Corneal infection in both eyes when I was twelve, completely blind by thirteen," Illya said, as I shuffled through his papers. Then he added, "If that's what you were wondering."

"I was," I replied, scanning his medical records. "According to your information you saw multiple specialists but by the time anything could be done the blindness had progressed too far. Eventually the infection was cleared up but your eyes remained permanently damaged…?"

Illya nodded.

"You lived with your grandmother before subjecting your body to questionable experimentation by a foreign scientific establishment?" I asked, my voice a little too casual.

Over Illya's shoulder, I saw Doctor Lists' gaze go hard, his lips pressing into a fine line. It was a look of warning.

Illya, however, laughed.

"I like her," he said, turning his head towards Doctor List.

"Yes," Doctor List replied, his voice tight and his eyes boring into mine. "Doctor Hunt has a way about her, doesn't she?"

I gave him the biggest forced smile I could muster, before letting it quickly slip away, replaced with my usual-as-of-late frown. We glared at each other, Illya in the middle and none the wiser to the growing tension in the room.

"This is her then?"

Another accented voice spoke, and I wheeled around, face to face with another volunteer. He had dark brown, curly hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in the same monochromatic outfit as Illya was. He frowned at me.

Doctor List nodded.

"F-Faye Hunt," I said, but didn't offer my hand. I had a distinct feeling that this volunteer would very much enjoy spitting on me for being American, or SHIELD, or whatever. I didn't appreciate how close to me he stood, and I clutched Illya's file to my chest protectively. God, I felt like a sissy.

"Come now Pietro," Illya said behind me. "Play nice with the new doctor."

The volunteer snorted, his gaze sliding to Doctor List. "Is Illya done yet?" he asked. "Strucker wants to talk to all of us."

Doctor List sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, go on."

Pietro reached past me, and I tensed as he leaned closer into my personal space, taking hold of Illya's hand. He turned and guided Illya's hand onto his shoulder, leading the way out of the lab. I watched as the two left, Pietro leading and Illya following close by with his hand on Pietro's shoulder like a guide. I looked at Doctor List, who had removed his glasses and was wiping them clean on a handkerchief.

He sighed again and replaced his glasses.

"Is he always so charming?" I asked.

"That's Pietro Maximoff. His bark is worse than his bite," he said. "He's been moodier lately because he's tired of waiting for his turn."

"His turn?" I asked.

"For experimentation."

Oh, right. _Some_ people were here because they wanted to be. _Some_ people were crazy enough to subject themselves to this torture.

"Have you made a decision yet?" List asked.

"Do I have much of a choice?"

"No, I suppose not," he said, "But if you're going to be a part of Hydra, you need to be fully invested. You can't have your head in Sokovia and your heart back in Washington DC."

I scoffed.

"I'm telling you this for your safety as well as everyone else's. Be smart enough to listen."

I shook my head, lips curled in annoyance. He was telling me to forget my old life like it was a bad dream.

Doctor List stepped closer to me. My hands were crossed over my chest and he took one of my elbows, squeezing it. "Listen to me Faye," he said firmly, "There's no pretending here. You're in enemy territory. You don't see the beauty behind our work, not yet, but you will. In the meantime, you need to cooperate if you want to survive. Understand?"

I looked into his dark, beady eyes, wondering why Doctor List was so adamant about my safety. I searched his face, trying to find an answer, but it remained passive. He released my elbow and moved towards the table. I didn't have time to dwell on his behavior, because Doctor List was switching on the computer and pulling out stacks of manila envelopes. He looked at me, waiting to step up to the table and join him.

I stared at the mounds of information sitting on the table. List had been right about my natural curiosity as a doctor. There was something deep inside me that ached to know what went wrong in the previous experiments, something itching to piece together the clues and find a way to make the experiments work. It was the reason I had gone to medical school; to find a way to make the impossible, possible. All I had to do was step forward and flip open a file to begin the work of a true medical practitioner, the one thing I had been wanting to do since I was sixteen.

But something held me back. Could I really forego what few morals I had left? These volunteers only knew half the story, and I wasn't sure I could consciously let them go on believing that these experiments were in their best interest. They were only for Strucker's gain, the lives of Illya, and Pietro, and the others an afterthought. And even if, by some miracle, I was able to save the volunteers, I would be creating weapons to be used against SHIELD; the very people who had saved me after my parents died. The Avengers would be in danger at the hands of a stuttering, drug abusing, anxiety driven, lab technician, who got frightened into working for the enemy. I thought of Captain Rodgers and how nice he had been to me that day at clinicals.

My life, the volunteer's lives, the Avengers lives.

I swallowed hard, moving closer to the table, my legs seeming to step forward of their own accord.

If I wasn't on the fast track to eternal damnation before, I sure as hell was now.

Doctor List smiled gently. "Right, let's get to work then."


End file.
